


Awake, Arise

by COBALT (nacaratskies)



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: (for me at least), (see if you can spot them!), 2 chapters + epilogue, AU henry and Elizabeth are okay :), Also some OCs (Henry’s brothers) but they’re not super relevant, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Victor brings him back and things develop from there, Gen, Its gen technically but it’s kinda gay have u read the book, Mental Health Issues, POV Henry + Henry-centric, References to an obscure medieval ballad, Scenery Porn, Weird pacing but it’s okay, dramatic irony and lots of it, if you want it to be Henry/Victor you can put on ur shipping goggles and away u go, long af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:24:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nacaratskies/pseuds/COBALT
Summary: 25th of July 1792, 02:45 amI’ve done it. I don’t know what will become of his mind, but at least the liver functions—I was afraid the bride’s was too degraded. As I look upon him I feel a sense of dread. I should not be doing this, but I cannot avoid it. What an awful conflict this is! I feel as if I am being torn in two. Still the mad fever is over me. In five minutes I shall perform the procedure. I am afraid. Dear Henry, I am sorry for what I am about to do, if it goes awry—I feel I have no choice. Wish me luck.I woke up screaming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs in the end notes :)  
This is waaay longer than literally any two chapter stories have a right to be but y’know what? it’s okay. I’ll probably post part 2 + epilogue over the span of a couple days.

I woke up screaming.

There was a fiery pain, a sense of tight need in my chest as if I had been holding my breath for too long. There was the smell of burning flesh and the strong metallic scent of blood, a bright and harsh orange light, the sound of electricity crackling, a pressure on my chest and a man muttering. My body stung badly all over. All of these sensations came upon me at once from the darkness and it seemed to me unbearable.

I bolted upright, the world a blur of sensation, dragging in breath after ragged breath. Air. I could not get enough air; my lungs were insatiable and starved. Dimly I perceived myself shaking.

Someone said my name. Distant. I looked around. A blur. Metal, instruments. There had been—I remembered suddenly with a rush of utter terror—there had been a monster—there had been hands around my neck— 

My eyes alighted upon one familiar object. A dark eye, pupil a mere pinprick, wide in fear or perhaps alarm. My vision extended to either side. Pale face. A trembling arm closed around my waist. Victor Frankenstein's gentle voice. I felt relief.

"Steady. Steady." Victor rubbed my back as I pressed myself against him. "Breathe." He began to model breaths for me. I followed his example. At first my chest screamed for more, but presently I was calmed and felt my heart rate slow. "Sleep, Henry," he said. His familiar voice lulled my already-exhausted mind, and a feeling of safety came over me. How beautiful it was to have someone care for me after such an ordeal had just passed. "Sleep," he said again, and then something more, which I did not hear.

The next time I awoke, I was in a bed. As I looked around I recognized what must have been the bedroom of the damp and dreary house I found myself in. Frankenstein's bed. Indeed, there he was, sitting at my bedside stiffly, as was his custom. He always seemed as if he'd been posed like a doll whenever he sat still, and never seemed to achieve a perfectly natural presence. But, God, he looked terrible; exhausted, weakened, ill. His skin had an unhealthy yellow pallor to it, and his hands shook where they were folded upon his lap. His clothes hung limp across his hollow and skeletal frame, drowning him in their vastness. How had he even managed to carry me to the bed? He appeared deep in thought, reddened eyes glazed and staring directly over me. 

"Dear Victor!" I exclaimed. "What has happened? You look dreadful!"

He jolted immediately out of his reverie, staring owlishly down at me with distress in his sunken eyes. "Have you forgotten, Henry? Some—some monster attempted to murder you, to strangle you!" he cried. "I only just found your body in time, having gone to meet you, and I brought you back to my laboratory at once. But thank God you are safe! I thought frequently that you would perish." Victor looked about to faint at any moment, and he seemed to be just as confused about the circumstances of my injury as I was. A frisson passed through me. His health had declined by a horrifying degree since last I saw him—I had not seen him look this ill since his harrowing fever at Ingolstadt. 

"I remember. And how long was I unconscious?" I asked. The dark memory of injury attempted to invade my mind. I rebuffed it. Victor was ill, starving, perhaps dying, and would surely not seek help until I compelled him to. His life was much more important than the recollection of the cause of my injury at the moment.

Victor winced. "Six days, and I attended you. But do not hide your distress, my friend. I am here. I have cared for you until this point and I will care for you for as long as you have need of me." He took on a pleading expression while I took on one of horror.

Six days! Had he not eaten or slept at all in six days, or more? Why, surely he was on the brink of death! "That is the issue, my dear! Why, look at you—you are emaciated! I can trace the outlines of your skull with my eyes alone! You are in need of a doctor's care!" As I spoke, I began once again to tremble, noticing further marks of neglect, abuse and illness upon Victor's countenance. The closer I looked, the harder it was to distinguish him from a corpse. The thought of it disturbed my heart to an extreme degree. Had he truly done this to himself? I wondered how much his sense of self-preservation had degraded while he was alone on this desolate rock. I felt guilt, then. If I had accompanied him, had been his companion and a true friend, then perhaps this would not have happened—perhaps he would have been well, instead of this starved, diseased and empty shell of a man before me.

"You need a doctor more than I," he insisted quietly, "and I am one." His slender and bony hands, heretofore carefully folded on his lap, fluttered in distress.

"We are both in dire need." I reached out and gripped his hand. I was convinced there was simply no time for him. If he had not slept in six days—if he had not eaten in six days!—surely he was at death's door; speed was of the essence. I was too weak to act, could only endeavour to convince him to help himself. "I wish dearly that I could attend you again, my dear Frankenstein, but neither of us are in a condition to tend to another at the moment. Please, write for a boat and let us both seek convalescence on the mainland where it would not endanger or deprive one of us to do so." I spoke quickly and with distress open in my tone.

Victor regarded me for a moment, then sighed wearily. "Very well," he said. "Sleep now, then, my dear Clerval. You will need strength for the trip." Reluctantly yet with great relief I obliged, slipping away into a thick river of surreal dream. Despite my body's aching for rest, I woke soon and slept only lightly and fitfully.

Victor collapsed at my bedside after having the letter delivered by one of the seafaring island dwellers and refused to rise until the ship came to retrieve us. He was fevered, which disquieted me; truly, he was deathly ill, and did not even perceive his own suffering. These paths of thought led me deeper into a wasteland of my own conscience. I had abandoned him when he needed me. I had been an abhorrent and negligent companion. Had I not known when we departed that Victor had a tendency to fall prey to his own obsession? Had I not seen the warning signs even before our trip? Oh, God, if only I had remained by his side! I had all but inflicted such pain upon my dearest friend! In such guilty throes I remained as we were carried to the ship and set off towards the closest land. 

Victor only worsened during the few hours' voyage despite the rest and food he received. I mourned my inability to fully care for him during my own recovery. I wondered frequently, pondering as I stared at his sleeping face, why it sometimes seemed as if my entire life was framed upon the shoulders of Victor Frankenstein. He consumed my thoughts wholly when I was near him. It seemed sometimes to me that every joy and ambition I possessed existed simply to elevate him, and I perceived my virtues growing alongside his so closely that I felt my soul become a part of his, like a briar and red rose tangling as they go stretching ever upwards. 

My recovery, in turn, was much swifter than expected. Even within the hours it took to reach the nearest port, I felt strong enough to help on deck and to remain out of bed. I was in awe at Victor's handiwork. When I changed my clothes, I soon discovered the full extent of his labour—my torso and back were crisscrossed with scars, the largest running straight from my neck to my groin, the deepest along the upper back just to my neck. My eyes caught on the deep bruising on my neck, and for a moment I felt I was choking; I struggled and my heart rate increased, and then it was gone and I was left alone with the gnarled, angry lines traversing my body. I allowed myself to feel briefly horrified and self-pitying; then I became fully appreciative of the sheer amount of labour Victor had performed to save me. Every single scar was atop an organ, as far as I could tell. Had he truly gone in and repaired all of them? He had even, it appeared, repaired some organs that I had not perceived as damaged, or would not expect to be damaged by my mode of injury. I felt within the day even better than I had before. I found myself stronger, more acute, in need of less sustenance and sleep. I had always known his genius, but to see it and feel it implemented in such a way was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Victor continued to worsen. He did not speak, was barely conscious and direly fevered. I took him to a doctor as soon as I was able. The doctor examined him, enquired his symptoms, paused, consulted a book, and gravely informed me that Victor had brain fever and would die within the week. This alarmed me, and I wept when I heard the news—Victor had finally given too much of himself up, worked himself too hard, and now he, I and everyone who loved him would pay. I immediately went about renting an apartment, the best in town, and put him to bed, believing that there was nothing more I could do for him. Determining that his last days should be as joyous as I could manage, I decorated his room with flowers of all varieties. I spent every hour at his bedside, reading poetry and stories to him that had once gladdened my heart but now seemed dampened, as everything was, by his impending fate. My guilt was infinite and inconsolable. I found myself staring at his livid face and wondering desperately where I had gone wrong. If I had only convinced him to come with me—if only I had gone with him—if only I had cared for him with a more intense fervour, had not been so caught up in the planning of my trip to India—if I had only been a better friend, then perhaps it would have been alright. In some dark moments late at night, I mused that I would not like to live in a world without him, though I dared not chase the thought down and find its progression.

And yet, in time I perceived that he did not worsen, and did not die within the week, despite my mounting dread that his breath should cease at any moment. Carefully halting myself from becoming hopeful, I took him back to the doctor, and to my immense relief he proclaimed that it was most likely not to be fatal after this amount of time and only required rest, care and kindness. I went about providing this as best as I could with inexpressible ecstasy in my heart.

I wrote to his father and Elizabeth, informing them of the situation, though I omitted the incident of incorrect prognosis. I wrote to my father and brothers, informing them of my own circumstances and my intention to return to Geneva, though omitting the exact details of my injury, as I did not wish to relive them. I also wrote to my would-be travel companions and informed them with the heaviest of sorrow in my heart that the journey to India would have to be postponed, or perhaps even cancelled, which put me in a rather melancholy mood for a few days. Ah, India! How I longed to see its deep and lush forests, its strange and wondrous animals that I had only heard of in fables, its virtuous and colourful culture! How I longed to speak its language and mingle with the spice-laden vendors in the streets until my whole self faded away and I became one with the roaring crowd. But I felt in my heart, as I sat by Victor's bedside and stared down at his small sleeping form, if he died I should never recover. I had been absent in his hour of need twice already. A third time would have been unforgivable.

Besides those activities, I overall did much the same as I had done during Victor's illness at Ingolstadt. I read to him and cared for him, for still I saw that glimmer of life, though he seemed to be locked away inside himself. By degrees he recovered, and though it felt painstaking to me, it seemed to be speedier than it was the last time. Within a month he could hold moderate conversation, which delighted me to no end, and within another fortnight he could take short walks with frequent breaks through the small town in which we stayed. He treated me with a delicate touch, as if I was spun glass and might shatter all over again if I was out of his sight for too long. He insisted upon being near me at almost all times; to avoid relapse, I conceded. In return, he cared for me as well, lamenting that he had not been well during the first few days of my recovery. "Henry, you have no idea how sorry I am," he lamented. "This scarring should have been negligible with proper care and a few grafts, but I'm afraid as it is you will only have a slight decrease in the severity, and I can stop them from aching. Consider yourself lucky that I am alive; you still require monitoring. Your state is an odd one, and hardly stable."

"My dearest Frankenstein," I replied, thinking of the dark days when I expected his death, "I already consider myself lucky."

He laughed miserably, dark eyes staring gravely into mine. "You should have no other reason to be happy than your own well-being." He refused to explain such statements. They worried me deeply. Frequently I pondered his words and behaviour as far back as Ingolstadt and wondered if Victor had developed severe melancholia, and whether I should seek help, but as I perceived his improvement under my care and recalled his vehement dislike of being treated as a madman, I refrained from mentioning it. 

The town in which we stayed was, certainly, beautiful. The wide, craggy face of the Earth extended far around us, and sometimes when I gazed out upon it I wished nothing more than to caper for ever upon that sweeping moor, the wind and rain tangling my hair, and continue running until I was lifted from the ground, laughing, and flew on wings fashioned of heather and the feathers of gulls. Yet I was soon shaken from these flights of fancy by Victor's need of care, and certainly I did not remain untouched by the horror of the recent past. Still, the faded memory of that night haunted me. Hands around my neck; a low groaning; a sense of betrayal; a dire lack of air; the certainty that I was to die, alone and in terror. They repeated themselves again and again in my head, intrusively interrupting every passing thought and attempt at focus, infecting me with a constant sense of doom until I wished nothing more than to scream in frustration. In these moments I felt temptations to abandon my careful discipline, to flee far from any abode and scream at the blue-grey clouds until my throat was bloody and raw, to lie down amid the brush and sleep on the cold moor for a thousand years. These dark thoughts made me feel rather silly and guilty, and they were quite unlike me. The dark obsession seemed to carry a consuming morbidity with it. I wondered what was wrong with me. 

In time, Victor's father wrote back, informing us that he was already on his way to pick us up. He arrived within a fortnight, by which time Victor had already gained back at last half the vigour with which he left Geneva months ago. This thought led me to consider his state beforehand. His health was truly in a shocking state, and had been ever since Ingolstadt. I could barely picture him, seventeen and waving as he fell away below the horizon heading for university. That was the last time I had seen him truly healthy. He had been in a dreadful state when I arrived, and even his recovery then had not been truly complete before the news of William and Justine had come and shaken him again. And then this dreadful trip... Victor hadn't been healthy in God knows how many years. I felt ill just thinking about it, and was unable to shake off the sensation that in some deep, immutable way, despite all my efforts, I had failed.

Despite this guilt and morbidity, I made a cheerful effort to take frequent walks, write, and study; this staved off my melancholy moods well enough. My father also wrote back, as did my brother Franz, both expressing the greatest alarm at my injury and informing me that they would fly to Geneva with the greatest of speed. Their letters cheered me greatly, though I was sorry I worried them so.

The trip to Geneva was long and largely uneventful, besides the fact that I was looking forward with great vigour to being reunited with my father and brothers, as well as Elizabeth. It was a truly divine trip. Soaring vistas and endless roaring seas, craggy and layered cliff faces heaved up from the earth, infinitely stretched blue skies and massive thundering storm fronts that smelled of damp earth reared their glorious heads at every turn, stunning me senseless with their imposing beauty; forested hills rose from gently lapping waters and faded into azure haze as they turned away, edges loping softly into the distance; the sun rose and set in deep blazing crimson and jubilant yellow displays, staining the clouds deep indigo and gilding the edges of the landscape in sharp bright golden etchings. The light never ceased to dye the vistas a dazzling saffron hue, glancing off my eyelashes and causing rainbows to dance across my vision, its rays casting a pleasant smouldering warmth upon my skin as gentle breezes, laden with the smell of chill dew and sweet blossoms, cooled me and ruffled my hair with a soft caress. The brilliant moon, set in deep vaulted skies of bluest velvet adorned here and there with the distant glint of heaven's fiery jewels, never seemed brighter; she smiled upon the earth and cast so strong a glow that the trees cast shadows, their deepness only serving to throw into a clear and gentle contrast the pale and ghostly halo of light that fell upon the glittering waters and dewy ground. I revelled in the majesty of these views and wrote of them frequently, for they stirred in me the deepest strings of my soul.

By contrast, Victor was anxious the entire journey back, and clung to me as if expecting an assassin to leap out and strike me down at any minute. I utilized this to compel him to spend time outside with me in an effort to share some of the comfort I enjoyed; however, it was also this anxiety that raised my suspicion. Perhaps Victor was simply nervous, made paranoid by the prospect of losing me again—and certainly, he had always been an anxious man, never still, never comfortable. Then again, perhaps he knew something I did not. Or perhaps it was this clouded sense of fear that carried with it a choking sensation, which inspired such paranoia in me.

We arrived in lovely Geneva to great fanfare. Elizabeth, Ernest and my father and brothers rushed out to meet us. While Elizabeth greeted Victor, my father embraced me tightly. "Henry, my boy," he cried, "you are so thin! And what is this scar?" 

"That is a long story, and I will tell you the full version later," I laughed. "But to answer your question in a shorter form, Father, I was attacked and gravely injured while walking at night. I thought certainly that I would die; however, Victor had just at that moment come to meet me, and chanced upon my body lying on the road. He brought me back to his laboratory and treated me with the greatest care; within a week I was turned from the brink of death to the path of recovery. I did tell you that academia has application, did I not?" I asked with a brazen grin.

"You did," he conceded with a good-natured smile. "And I have been proven wrong. However, let me speak to Frankenstein!" So saying, he knelt before Victor, who had paled considerably. "Frankenstein, you have saved my boy. I am in your eternal debt."

"It was simply my duty," Victor answered. "I could not—if he had died, that would have been my utmost and defining failure." The last sentence was choked with distress. I looked up in alarm.

My father also seemed apologetic. "Of course, my boy—I apologize, I know of your illness. Thank you for your exertions. I leave you to rest." So saying, he withdrew, leaving them to help Victor up to his room.

I wished to join them, but at that moment my brothers swarmed me. Isaac, a little boy of seven, demanded to see my scars, and I obliged him when we reached our lodgings, at which point he insisted on tracing every one of them with his fingers. "It's as if you've been in a great battle!" he cried.

"Yes!" Joseph, four years old, made a trumpet noise. "You battled a great beast! A—a giant! Like Goliaf!” 

"It's Goliath, you ignoramus," Isaac said. 

"Don't call me an ignoramus!" 

I smiled, the energy of my brothers infecting me, and my mind began to spin a tale, the familiar weave of the story pulling me along. "Yes!" I cried before they could begin to argue, "the giant loomed up before me, and I with no armour and only a pocket knife!" I gasped in a mock fear. "It lunged at me and—ha!" I mimed the action, tracing the imaginary blow along the scar across my ribcage, where Victor had repaired my right lung. "He struck my side! I rolled and dodged his next blow despite the pain!" I continued to narrate my imagined conquests against the giant, Isaac and Joseph bouncing around me as I mimed the great fight. Their enthusiasm cheered me up greatly, for usually the sight of the scars rendered me sick with dread memories of that wretched, wretched night which had caused this debacle months ago, but now they seemed a child's playthings, that struck their imagination like flint upon steel to create leaping flames of fancy. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but I did not tell them the truthful circumstances. I could not bring myself to douse their fiery young minds with my own woes.

Their excitement also chased my gloom away, and yet some darkness remained in the back of my mind—the thing that had ambushed me, eight feet tall, watery eyes and a form undefined in the darkness—strong, thick fingers, closing around my neck, tighter and tighter and tighter—struggling, begging for mercy—then, nothing. A Goliath, indeed. 

Franz, who was twenty, arrived the next day, and the reunion was complete. Joseph and Isaac were ignorant of what had happened, but Franz and my father were distressed by my injury and more so by my scars and my thin and pallid frame, which had refused to fill out completely ever since my revival.

"Why do you have so many long scars from cuts if you were choked, Henry?" Franz enquired once, late at night.

"It was Victor's handiwork," I replied. "Many of my organs needed to be repaired."

"Oh, God." He stared into his drink.

"Yes, I was on the brink of death." I took another sip of wine. The memory of hands around my throat shoved its way into my head. I shoved them back. "But I was lucky, and Victor is a genius." 

"We are all lucky," Franz said gravely. "How is Frankenstein?"

"Not well," I sighed. "I don't think he has ever fully recovered from his illness at Ingolstadt. He asks for me frequently, but Father insists I stay and spend time with Isaac and Joseph. He recovers physically at a quick pace, but he is still full of melancholy. He is afraid of something. I feel it is my fault."

"You are not at fault," he reassured me. "He is afraid, though. I believe he knows something about your attacker. Nothing was taken, nothing broken. Only you were injured in the attack. That seems suspicious to me. Do you know, he asked me to keep an eye on you? On you! You, who fight better than I myself do. If you could not take down your attacker, I don't think anyone in Geneva could. That arouses my suspicion."

"I don't think anyone in the world could have taken him down," I said. Eight feet tall. Hands around my neck. Screaming. Darkness.

"It isn't your responsibility to take care of him, you know, Henry." Franz watched me carefully. "You might well still go to India." He knew my passions well, and felt as sorrowful as I at the cancellation of my plans. However, I scoffed at the idea. Perhaps I had already had too much to drink, but it seemed preposterous to me. Wherefore would I ever leave? The thought was anathema. Nevermore would I abandon him; I would not leave his side until he was well. This I felt deeply. It burned ardently in my soul. However, despite all my knowledge of language and poetry, I did not know how to express this, and did not wish to try.

Abruptly, I realized I had been silent for a long time, and shook my head to rid myself of my reverie. "I don't think you understand me, Franz," I laughed, though a hint of bitterness, or perhaps sheepishness, rejoined my mirth. 

"No, perhaps not..." He eyed me strangely. For a few minutes we sat in silence, then we withdrew for the night.

The days passed in a mixture of two emotions: happiness to be with those who loved me, and a creeping guilt and strange trepidation, for Victor was not happy, though nobody knew why. I attempted to pay it as little mind as possible, splitting my time between the Frankenstein family and my own. I hiked the lower slopes of the Alps in winding aimless circles, admiring the wide forests and dappled light; while the views on the way back had been glorious and imposing, these vistas comforted me, seemed more domestic, more familiar and comforting to me, and yet no less blessed in their simple nostalgic beauty.

A few days after my strange conversation with Franz, Victor's father announced the marriage of Victor and Elizabeth, to much merriment. But even this seemed unable to lift Victor's spirits. On the contrary, he seemed to be infected with a heavy dread. I lavished my time and affection on him, endeavouring to soothe him. For a time it seemed to work, and with my help and that of Elizabeth, he hiked several gentler trails, and was once again enchanted, as I had been, by the beauty of our own familiar landscape; however, at one point while hiking together we were unexpectedly caught in a thunderstorm and in the space of one single crack of lightning there came a horrible change over him, and he once again became hysterical and begged desperately to go home, shaking from head to toe. He did not go out again. I was crushed.

A fortnight before the wedding, an event occurred which, I believe, marked the crucial turning point of the matter. Victor called me into his room in the evening. I found him sitting at his desk before a pile of papers, head in his hands. As I read the heading of the paper, my anxiety was transformed into extreme agitation, which I endeavoured to hide. With a trembling hand, Victor passed me the pen. "Please don't ask any questions, Henry." He avoided my gaze. "Just sign it, and promise me you will be safe. Promise me."

"I promise," I stuttered, and, taking the pen, signed it rapidly. I felt intensely that I should do more, say something to break this awful tension in the room, but I had no words left. Instead I took Victor's hand in mine, squeezed it tightly, and took my leave.

As soon as I was out of earshot, I flew to Elizabeth's room. A sea of agitation seemed to seethe and heave in me, and it was all I could do not to groan aloud. I prayed silently, knocking on Elizabeth's door. She opened it in her nightgown, hair hanging down tangled and eyes sleepy. When she saw me, her countenance changed. "Clerval? What brings you here at such an hour?"

"I," I began, recognizing distantly that my throat hurt. "Oh, God, Elizabeth." 

"What is it?" She looked upon me with the greatest degree of concern.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but only a sob came out. I lowered my head into my shaking hands and, to my great consternation, wept bitterly, unable to express what I had come to say.

"Henry, my dear friend!" She guided me inside with gentle fingers and sat me down on the edge of her bed. "Whatever is the matter?"

I fought the tremors that came over me, and slowly regained my composure enough to speak, though my emotions still bucked wildly out of control. It seemed to me that all of the anxieties and anguish that I had dared not show before Victor for fear of distressing him were gushing out of me in a great wave. At length, I spoke. "Oh, God," I groaned. "Victor—I am afraid for him, Elizabeth. I am so very afraid."

"As are we all," she said mournfully. 

"But you don't know the extent. You were not there, at Ingolstadt, or in Scotland, with the fever raging over him—!" I took a shuddering breath. "But that is not what I came to warn you of. Tonight, he asked me to sign his last will and testament. God, he is so ill!" I let out another hopeless sob, a painful wildness rising within me. "Elizabeth, with this heavy melancholy over him, I fear he may be planning to—"

I watched her face as she went through the same emotions I had when I had seen the paper. "Oh, God help us," she whispered.

"We must help him!" My chest and head ached. My eyes stung. I shook like a leaf in a foreboding autumn wind. "We must do something." 

"I agree," she said, clasping her hand over mine in a compassionate gesture, "however, I wholeheartedly believe that putting him in an asylum would only make things worse."

"Me as well." I rubbed in vain at my eyes and nose with my sleeve and took a deep breath. Victor would not take being treated as a madman well. It would surely worsen his condition further to be treated with such scorn and squalor, and then—the outcome was too awful to consider. A shiver ran through me.

"But, Henry, I don't believe that we know enough to make a definite plan." Her brow was furrowed in concentration. "If we stayed in contact, monitored him, then perhaps that may give us a warning. We know that he plans to marry me, and thus we know he is safe until then, but in my estimation the greatest danger will occur on our wedding night, when he has fulfilled his mother's wish."

Her last statement made my heart ache. I swallowed. "Very well." I nodded. "And we shall both keep an eye on him." 

"Yes. We'll discuss this matter at further length in the morning. But, Henry, you are so upset. Are you alright?" So saying, she clasped my hand. I stared at her, struck dumb. She smiled sadly and embraced me; I gripped tightly at her dress and let my tears fall. 

Presently, I broke my silence to pour out my entire soul to her, she who had been my friend and confidant in childhood and remained still so sweet and faithful. I told her in broken phrases of my fear at Ingolstadt, my lofty excitement at the thought of India, my endless studies, my hopelessness and frustration at Victor's seeming inability to perceive beauty any more. I told her how my life felt centred around him. I told her of the wretched days when I thought he would die, and furthermore I told her of the wretched thought that had frequently crossed my mind in those days, which horrified her deeply. Everything came back to Victor. I poured out everything that seemed at once terribly important and infinitely meaningless in one long, looping confessional, and Elizabeth murmured consolingly and carded her fingers through my hair, sometimes briefly speaking to enquire, react, or comfort. I felt as if with each sorrow I bared, she took it in both hands, held it up so that it sparkled, and set it aside gently. This was Elizabeth's strength. She possessed the infinite ability to console.

At length, I ran out of things to say, and squeezed her tightly, a wordless gratitude. I leaned back, then, and rubbed at my eyes with the heel of my palm. "Thank you," I said, feeling slightly sheepish now. 

"It is nothing; it is hard to remember, sometimes, with Victor's troubles, but I have not forgotten that we were friends as children as well. We are not only linked through him; I am your friend, and always will be. Therefore please, Henry, try to be at peace." She attempted to smile. It was small, but sweet and caring. "You must care for yourself as well." 

Since I had exhausted myself of tears, I left, having no words remaining to say. It was past midnight. I felt empty, plagued by guilt worse than the worst pangs of hunger or injury, and chaotic snatches of scenes I had just laid bare played through my head. Victor's fever at Ingolstadt. The doctor informing me gravely of the false diagnosis. Victor smiling an entirely false and transparent smile at me. His stiff and quavering voice when I awoke. How harrowing those six days must have been, slaving away at a corpse!

At that thought I paused. A corpse? Where had the thought originated? I had certainly been alive for all that time, for here I was. And yet, I certainly felt as if I had died under the hands of my attacker. Even as I thought of it, the memory seemed to poison the air. I dismissed the silly thought, but it flitted back to me. It repeated itself, over and over, and suddenly a series of images presented themselves to me, and in my sleepless and distraught delirium seemed horrifyingly plausible. My body in the road; Victor bent over me, lifting me; my body again, sliced open and spread wide from the collarbone to the groin, draped across the cold laboratory table; Victor, muttering madly as he worked, avoiding my half-opened blank eyes. These scenes I had never seen before, but they seemed all too familiar. They were followed by the pictures I had already been dwelling on; his blank stare upon my awakening, his illness, his paranoia, his mentioning of my 'odd and unstable state.' I knew it was silly, delusional, false. The images repeated nonetheless. I wished to seek out Elizabeth again, but did not, for I did not wish to wake her. I did not sleep a wink that night.

The plan was solidified over the course of the next few days. It was very simple. Elizabeth and I would try to keep Victor company, to lift his spirits, but as that was only a supplementary measure, the true plan was this: on the night of their wedding, I would stay close to the cottage where they planned to honeymoon. Elizabeth would keep a close eye on Victor, and would not sleep. If anything went wrong, anything at all, she would call for me, and I would rush in. I was supplied with a small medical kit, though I barely knew how to use it.

The night of the wedding crept ever closer. I was chosen to be best man; there was no bridesmaid, for Elizabeth insisted on honouring Justine, who would have held the position had she been alive. I largely agreed with this decision, though it was controversial; Justine had been dear to me, and I missed her profoundly and found this an appropriate honour. Victor, upon hearing of this, looked positively ill with grief; it worried me. Though Elizabeth was also loathe to find a ring-bearer, as was I, this was deemed necessary and I managed to recruit Isaac instead, though every time she saw him she seemed to gaze upon the face of William instead. I spent the majority of my time with Victor; however, I never mentioned his will, and nor did he. It was a secret that hung between us like a dead weight.

I felt ever more dread and ever more guilt and anguish. What had I done wrong? What could I have done to prevent this? My heart ached terribly, and yet I endeavoured with all my strength to keep up a brave face and be cheerful. God knows everyone needed it. Victor acted cheerful as well, but I knew better. He looked at everything with his false and transparent smile, which cheered his father and Ernest greatly; Elizabeth and I alone saw through it.

The day of the wedding was bright and sunny, full of merriment, but to me it seemed a blur. Elizabeth in her dress, smiling; Victor looking dashing in his lovely suit, dark circles under his eyes, smiling as well, only slightly less; Victor asking me if I was feeling alright. The food, the music, the sun. The joy was slightly dampened by the absence of William and Justine, as any joyful ceremony is inevitably dampened by distant grief; however, far from ruining the day, it gave the celebration a bittersweet nuance that rendered the merriment all the more fulfilling for its quietly ever-present remembrance.

They departed on a boat after the ceremony. I departed and followed behind them in my own smaller vessel. I viewed the banks and forests where they bent to tenderly touch the water, the glittering peaks bathed in the quiet sunset's amber light. I viewed, with trepidation and wonder, the last embers disappear behind the horizon, and saw the sky fade into a gentle lilac twilight, still golden in the west with the indigo hue of night already seeping in from the east. All of these views consoled me, but I never quite managed to separate myself from my concerns. 

I installed myself in my temporary lodgings beside them at Evian and lay in wait. Traces of distant voices echoed from within the house, but I could not distinguish the words. A dark passed over the mountains and the spire, and the stars came out briefly, glittering gloriously before they were covered by a cloud front that swept in from the North and left me in absolute darkness.

Presently that haunting fear came over me. I felt that some horror was at the point of leaping from the bushes in a vicious attack, and could not escape the throes of my memories, lacking any job to attend to or any friend to calm me with kind words. I had never been a miserable creature, and always endeavoured to find hope in myself and those around me; I had never given way to melancholy or the impulse to do ill; I did not make a habit of despair. However, I had not been alone at night since that time due to my and Victor's circumstances, and solitude recalled to me the horror and shock. I felt as if I would never be the same, and grieved my departed innocent nature, weeping; then, all of a sudden, a wild panic came over me and swallowed me up. I struggled to breathe. I recalled hands clutching around my neck, a straining, hot feeling, a rawness, a gasping. There are no words to describe the awful feeling of being choked—deprived of even the most basic need for life, I had begun clawing at my attacker, gasping desperately, coughing, attempting to scream, to beg, overwhelmed by an uncontrollable frustration bordering on fury; the infinite helpless void yawned inside of me, the pain pounded in my head. I recalled tunnel vision, an awful whining in my ears, then—darkness, utter and awful. I recalled all of these things so vividly that they seemed to be happening again, and I flew into a panic, then fully unable to draw breath, to remember who or where I was or wherefore I was alone; I was unable to find rationality. I wished to hurt my attacker, wished to hurt myself. The paradoxical feeling of simultaneously drawing breath and choking made me dizzy. A deep, rumbling voice accosted me—a sense of deep betrayal— 

A shrill scream pierced the silent air. Not mine; Elizabeth's. I leapt to my feet, immediately knocked from my nightmarish reverie. But, God, how fearful she sounded! Even as I gasped for breath I ran to her, praying that nothing dire should have happened.

Up the steps, I slammed into the locked front door, then backed up and rammed it again. It burst off its hinges, to my surprise, but it was of no importance. I knew not how long it had been since the scream, but hoped dearly I was not to be too late. Oh, my dear, dear Victor! My heart felt as if it was caving in at the thought of any injury to him.

Up the elegant staircase I flew, through the halls. Another scream rang out, directing me. I rounded a corner; I slammed into Victor. He gasped, falling to the ground. My mind spun, painfully slow. What was the meaning of this? Why was she screaming if Victor was safe? Why had she left him alone knowing the danger? No matter! I plunged onwards, even ignoring the gunshot and Victor's horrified scream after me.

I entered the room, and my blood congealed in my veins where I stood. The would-be assassin—the monster! He stood there, clutching a struggling Elizabeth by the neck. She glanced at me, a scant hope in her eyes, and in but a moment her prayer was answered. The creature dropped her onto the bed and she gasped for breath. "Henry!" she cried, "where's Victor—is he safe? I only left him alone for a minute—I think he has a gun—he kept asking me to leave—Henry? Henry!"

"Ah," the thing muttered. His voice carried across the room. At the familiar sound of it, I felt as if I had been shot through the heart. "We finally meet, my darling fellow creature."

I, meanwhile, was frozen with utter terror. Certainly he was atrociously ugly, but that was not what truly struck me. This form, this creature, I recognized him! Though he was bent against the ceiling and in full light this time, I would have recognized him anywhere. Surely, I was dreaming; surely it was only a nightmare. It was indeed the same form that had accosted me and choked my life out on that cursed night. I do not know what I did then. Perhaps I remained rooted to the spot in silence, perhaps I sobbed aloud. I was so overtaken by my horrid memory that I could no longer distinguish reality for a moment.

The fiend had not taken three steps towards me when I perceived someone else behind me. I turned; there was Victor. He was also staring at the man, though there was no fear in his eyes. He seemed an entirely different person from my old friend. A fire burned inside of his eyes. He trembled, not with weakness but with anger. A cry of relief and fear rang out from Elizabeth. He glanced at me with a strange look in his eyes; I saw the gun in his hands in my periphery. Had he anticipated this attack? Elizabeth and I had gotten it all backwards—and yet, how did they know each other? What did it all mean? My thoughts raced, reaching no conclusion. My head spun. I thought I sobbed in fear, but the blood roaring in my ears masked the sound.

Presently, the assassin spoke. His voice was gravelly, deep and rough. "I see that you are a sinner twice over, and a hypocrite besides."

"Begone!" Victor cried. He seemed to be taking all of his effort not to run and attack the assassin at that moment. "Villain! I have seen your plan nearly too late, but believe me when I proclaim that I will have my victory!"

The assassin growled, a hoarse and Godless sound. I had ceased to even feel the terror that ran through me. There was simply too much for the human frame to bear, and I became entirely numb. "Silence, Frankenstein! You are an imbecile and a hypocrite! You claim that I am a freak, an abomination! You claim I defy nature's laws, and yet despite all your convictions, with a cadaver at your doorstep, you simply couldn't help yourself. You are a pathetic and wretched man, and a worse creator!" He turned his burning gaze on me, and I quavered, hiding my face for a moment as if he had risen his hand to strike me. "Did this man tell you the truth when he animated you, creature? I see by your countenance he did not. I know you think that you were healed by this wretch of a man, but that is as far from the truth as any pretty fable." His voice took on a mocking and saccharine quality.

"Stop! Stop, I entreat you, stop!" Victor begged. "Don't listen to him, Henry, he is treacherous!"

The assassin laughed. "A noble effort to confound and save face, however ineffectual against the truth. No, my fellow creature. Listen to me. I was created by the hands of Victor Frankenstein; I was abandoned in the cold by him; I exist, I suffer and am eternally hunted, because of him; he gave me hope of companionship and dashed it again with the hideous murder of my bride! I murdered Clerval with these hands of mine; he squirmed uselessly like an insect beneath my fingers, let out small whining noises and pawed at me as he turned first to red, then purple; then he succumbed. And yet, here you stand! Victor Frankenstein slaved over a corpse for six nights and lied to that same corpse when it got up and began to move. Your body is made of the cannibalized, violated shell of Henry Clerval and the entrails of the creature who was to be my bride. You should be ashamed! You poor naive thing. It matters not if you remember being Clerval; you are the same as I. Nameless, reborn from the hands of a desecrator and a criminal—at least, that is how Frankenstein would see you if he had any justice in his heart!" 

"But I am Henry Clerval," I whispered, my heart plunging. I looked down at my hands. They were the same hands I had always seen since childhood; and yet, if what he had said was true, then were they mine? Had Henry Clerval died then, and I risen to take his place? Certainly, I felt I was a shade in my own life, plagued by memory and misery that I had never truly felt before, and unable to live up to what I had done so easily before, and yet—and yet—!

"You are nothing! You are nameless! You are a beast, an abomination, you are the same as me. Is that not right, Frankenstein? Either I am human or he is a monster. You can't have both!" The creature snarled this last sentence; then he sighed, recomposing himself, and as he continued on a strange mirth shone in his tone. "And yet, it makes no difference; no, it matters not whether you resolve this conflict of definition. The situation remains. You raised another corpse, Frankenstein, and upon the mountains of Geneva you swore that the body you rose would be mine to take; either I will take it, or Elizabeth's neck is mine also. I see that he will not be my mate, but at least I will have a companion. Now I claim my prize, which has so helpfully come to me."

"That was never our agreement!" Victor cried hoarsely, but it was already too late. The monster darted forward. Despite my strength, I could not move, could not fight. He utterly paralyzed me, body, bone and mind. His presence called to me that awful night when—it is true—I died, and his words struck agony through me as sharply as if I had been impaled. It had been a corpse, then, that Victor had slaved over. The images leapt again into my mind, exceedingly clear. Victor screaming. The hands closing around my neck. My body on the table, cut open in so many places. I felt dizzy and ill, and nearly collapsed, but the monster seized me first.

Elizabeth screamed out my name; Victor charged blindly, bringing his gun up to fire. The monster held me before him as a shield. I cried out for Victor to shoot, but he lowered his weapon in horror. The monster leaped out the window, dragging me with him. The last thing I saw was Victor rushing to the window, and I called his name in terror; then my emotions overwhelmed me and I felt no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
Self harm, anxiety attacks, trauma, kidnapping, implied suicidal tendencies — I think that’s all but let me know if there’s anything else. 
> 
> Is that how signing wills works? Probably not, I don’t actually know. I’m just gonna justify my bad research skills by saying that Victor also doesn’t really care whether that’s how it works
> 
> Did y’all catch that Victor screams after Henry runs into him because he shot at him before he realized what was going on, and thought he’d hit him? I was gonna put that in later but then it didn’t really fit so there’s just a fun fact for ya. 
> 
> This could probably stand a little more editing too but I just wanted to get it out there. Oh well
> 
> My kingdom for a comment :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow imagine doing the Ao3 reformatting on your phone? What kind of idiot does that???  
(It’s me I’m that idiot) 
> 
> Also uhh yep we’re switching POV now. Why? Because the flow worked better that way. I hope it’s not too annoying/disjointed/differing from the original prose lol sorry

In the few days after Clerval's capture, I rarely slept and did not eat. I flew into agitated fits at the slightest provocation, pacing up and down my chamber; I thought constantly and uniquely of Henry. Why could I not get his accursed image out of my head? It seemed seared into my brain. Repeating infinitely I saw betrayal in his eyes, heard his voice screaming for me, saw him struggling in the daemon's grasp. Even as the smouldering coals of hatred grew in me and the flames of anger licked my insides, fanned by the memory of Clerval's terrified scream, I sickened. My only consolation was that Elizabeth was safe.

Elizabeth, too, struggled within those two days. She looked at me as if seeing a completely new man, which struck anguish into my heart. I was the man she had known before, was I not? And yet, now she knew my awful secret, and so did Henry. She looked at me as if I had betrayed her, and seemed disappointed. Perhaps I had betrayed my dearest Elizabeth after all. The thought was agony.

We travelled back to Geneva on the shortest possible notice, three days after everything had occurred. Once Elizabeth had explained the situation in brief and undisclosing terms, relieving my burden of reliving the situation, she called me up to her bedchamber.

When I entered, she was sitting upon the bed, and motioned for me to join her. I sat beside her, and we sat in silence for a long moment, both avoiding the other's gaze.

At length, Elizabeth spoke. "Oh, God, Victor," she murmured, "What have you done?"

* * *

I recall little from my captured days. What I do remember is bitter, cold and unsettling. 

The first thing that I was conscious of was the cold. I was so cold. The creature refused to light a fire for fear of being seen; he had assumed that I was equally resistant to disease and exposure as he. He was incorrect.

Even worse than the constant cold was the fear. It seemed to pervade me and the air surrounding me, leaking in and out of my skin, a wretched mockery of breath. I could not calm down, could not be rational, not with the creature beside me, not with him watching over me, not with the fear of him coming back when he was gone and the fear of him going away when he was there.

He spoke to me often. Sometimes he asked me questions. Sometimes he said simple things, such as "Eat," and sometimes he would talk for hours, recounting events that had occurred or musing over a difficult topic. I do not recall if I answered. Surely, if I did, it was hardly coherent. He sought in me the answer to questions about his own nature; he found only the muttered responses of delirium, for I was mad with fever and fear.

Sometimes I would lapse into wild panic, recalling the memories that still haunted me; much like the night at Evian, I was unable to breathe; I writhed, prayed, wailed, wept. I clutched at my throat. I felt fury and hopelessness, and these feelings overwhelmed me. I bit at my knuckles, scratched at my arms until my nails gouged deep and brought a compulsive relief as my skin burned red-hot and my hands continued to move, only barely suppressing the wildness. It was madness, I half-knew; madness more than I had ever known. I understood now the men that raged and raved in asylums. I felt their manic urge to scream, to claw at themselves until they were whole, until this wild and burning panic like a bucking stallion fled and left them empty and hollow. I wept when I was done with these mad fits; they marked the death of Henry Clerval, joyous and innocent. Oh, how I longed for the days when I had looked to the future with a naive yearning, when I gazed upon the mountains and felt nothing but joy in my heart. Now I was lost forever in this cavern and was certain that this pain would not leave me, that it had warped and bent the joys of my soul so that I now stooped and despaired where before I was so uplifted by my own nature. 

These thoughts so filled me with despair that I thought I might rather die than continue as a shell of a man, but I thought of my friends and of my previous death and was afraid to die; for I had not seen a light. I had not seen God. My recollection was perfect, unlike the creature's fractured mind in total amnesia, but Heaven refused to resolve itself. It was simply as if I had been in a dreamless sleep, not thinking nor feeling, forever. As though my brain had just stopped. That thought terrified me. I could not bring myself to pray; I had not seen any light when I died; either I had no soul and the true immortal Henry Clerval was in the next life already, which was a horrifying prospect, or God was not there at all, and I was utterly alone in an unfeeling world, which was worse.

And yet, was I Henry Clerval? This shell, scarred and pallid, it was not meant to be among the living. Perhaps it was that which had broken my mind, had made me into a different man; the long slow degradation of the dead mind manifesting itself in a man now half-alive. I could not bring myself to blame my dearest Victor for my sorrows, for I knew that he had no choice. He had seen my body, had been with his instruments; everything had been prepared. I saw him in my mind's eye, weeping bitterly, clasping my hand to his chest as he was wont to do during those trying days before we returned to Geneva. I could picture all too clearly his consuming guilt, his manic grief. He would have done anything, I am sure, to escape from it. I would have done anything to free him from it. No, it was not Victor's fault; or, if it was, I did not blame him at all. I did not blame anyone, and perhaps that was worse.

* * *

The vision of Clerval screaming as he was carried away haunted me endlessly, sleeping and waking; and yet, underneath the turmoil I perceived that a resolve was taking shape in me. I was deeply furious, and no longer wished to grow ill with grief. For too long I had been inactive, waiting for a sign, a conversation, something to compel me into action that I did not choose or wish to perform. Now I realized that no sign was to arrive. Either I would resolve to reclaim him myself or he would stay forever in the monster's grasp; perhaps even perish there, forsaken and cold. The thought was intolerable to me, and as soon as it occurred, a cry was torn from my lips and I ran to fetch paper and a quill.

* * *

My wild panic usually came when I was alone, and could think; this was unpleasant. Some days, I was unable to control myself, and lapsed in the presence of the creature; this was worse. On those occasions, he would notice my gasping and ask me if I was hurt. The first few times, my lack of response alarmed him and he approached me, which only worsened my panic. In this state I imagined he was coming to end me, and I shrieked incoherently at him; he ignored this, and, unwisely, took me into his arms as if to comfort me. This was the last thing I could bear. I began to seize and hyperventilate, and soon became faint. I cannot remember my emotions properly at that moment. I felt as though I was not in my body, and fancied myself floating, watching this scene take place, numb and neutral, until I lost consciousness. Gradually, he learned that any meddling on his part would only infinitely worsen the situation, and learned to retreat to the opposite end of the cave when I flew into such frenzies, regarding me with an anguished expression. 

Indeed, there lay the paradox of my experience. I was tortured and terrified by the very existence of the creature; my memories of him forced their way into every waking moment, and nightmares into every minute of sleep. I was unable to communicate this, or indeed communicate at all, so deep was my terror; I could only stare hollowly at the wall, paralyzed with fear. However, the creature did not wish to harm me. On the contrary, he seemed deeply troubled by my fits and unresponsiveness, and endeavoured by every means available to rouse me; by food, conversation, even offering to take me out of the cave to see the surroundings, which he assured me were exceedingly beautiful. His approaches only worsened my state, and thus only heightened his worry. It was a vicious cycle.

Indeed, perhaps nature could have calmed me before, but not now. Nevermore, I thought, would the sight of nature rouse me. The views were poisoned by the knowledge that I was not meant to see them. This filled me with despair. If I was meant to die then, if I was meant to never see or experience again, were the landscapes I had seen up to the age of five-and-twenty the only landscapes I was ever meant to see? I had never seen the vast sands of the Sahara; I had never been to North America to see the great bison or Niagara Falls, or to Africa to see Mount Kilimanjaro or the giraffes roaming the savannah. I had not been to China to taste their tea; I had not been to India to taste their spices; truthfully, I had never seen much more than our own corner of Europe. Were those poems I had written to be the sum of my work? Were the skills I had accumulated to be the peak of my achievements, squandered on a dead man's wake? Was I never to know what became of my friends—of Elizabeth's kindness, of Victor's genius, of Franz's studies, of Joseph's drawings? Was I to be ignorant of the future of the world? No! These thoughts filled me with the utmost despair. I was simply living on borrowed time, I felt. My feats meant nothing. My poetry meant nothing. My joy meant nothing. All was gone, all was worthless, all words I spoke or thought being derived from a dead man. Perhaps, I thought sometimes, this is how Victor felt. Perhaps these were his feelings, or some measure of them, when he locked himself away from us, his relatives and friends, who loved him. This thought, too, brought me agony. I wished nothing more than to lift this burden from him. I would take it all, if only Victor could feel free, could live and love openly and without guilt or terror. I desired this so ardently that my heart ached.

The creature knew none of my thoughts, but only perceived my melancholia, mania, and my worsening health, which aggrieved him greatly. Meanwhile I grew ill and feverish. I began to have difficulty breathing. My chest and head hurt; I coughed frequently; I did not sleep. I lost weight. "Are you ill? How do you feel?" he would ask me, and I would not answer. Sometimes he became distraught and asked me, almost angry, "Why are you still here?" And though it seemed more like he was asking himself, upon my lack of response, would become agitated and withdraw, pacing, to the other end of the cave and mutter to himself. Though I could not hear him the tone was urgent. He seemed to be struggling over a decision.

* * *

For a long while, it seemed, though it cannot have been more than a few months, I tracked the sightings on foot until I finally perceived that I was led in a roundabout way back to Geneva. This confused me greatly. I had half-expected him to be on a ship to South America by now, but to stay so close to my own dwelling? The hateful daemon was mocking me! I cursed him bitterly and prayed that he had not harmed Henry.

As I approached the glacier, I found a trail of days-old steps, and with the greatest of delight relished to follow them. I perceived that the footsteps I followed became clearer as I went on and sometimes were joined by doubles and triples seemingly made on different days. No more were there remnants of fires. The more I approached the glacier, the more footsteps I saw, and I perceived with trepidation that the monster was near. I steeled myself, though I lacked sleep and trembled with weakness. I resolved not to wait. It was waiting that had produced this result. I would take action. I would retrieve Clerval, battle the creature for him if I had to.

It was while I found myself occupied by these thoughts one day that I suddenly heard footsteps perhaps a dozen feet away, and quickly hid myself in a bush, that I might remain unseen. An icy horror trickled slowly through me, and for a moment I wished to flee, but I saw the creature approaching, and stilled my trembling hands. A shiver went down my spine at the sight of his awful form, but I quickly refocused myself. He seemed to be foraging for food, and did not pay any mind at all to his other surroundings. He already had a makeshift basket full of roots, mushrooms, nuts and berries, and as I watched he picked more, placing them in his basket. His abhorred countenance was twisted into an expression almost like worry, and he muttered to himself in a low, coarse tone, though I could not hear it. I almost panicked then; my heart beat fast and I could barely draw breath. I thought certainly that he would see me and attack, but it was not to be. Caught up in his reverie, he passed onwards.

As soon as I perceived that he was out of earshot, I leapt up and followed his fresh footsteps backwards, my heart pounding. This was the moment I had anticipated. I was certainly not prepared, and yet I was compelled to move while he remained out and distracted. Thus I made my way rapidly up the mountain, gasping with the exertion of it.

* * *

The creature was gone foraging. I, though I was aware that I needed food, felt as if I could not force down one bite of the stuff he would return with. My chest made a crackling, rasping sound as I inhaled. All energy and vigour had fled from my limbs. Was this it, then? Was I to die, alone, of illness, in this Godforsaken cave? My head spun. I could not muster up the breath to weep.

As I drifted, not quite asleep, I heard a distant voice. Victor. Ah, my dreams would be sweet now. My nightmares were driven away for a moment by the thought of him. I missed him dearly. Perhaps one day they would find my skeleton here and figure out what had happened. Perhaps Victor would get closure one day. I pitied him. No longer would our souls grow together as a briar and rose; I was withering away.

There was a scraping at the walls, rousing me slightly from my stupor. My heart sank. The creature had returned. I lacked the energy to open my eyes. It was fine. He had learned to leave me alone; he would let me sleep. A quavering breathing echoed through the cave. The footsteps ceased. I coughed weakly.

There was a loud cry, then, which startled me. I flinched. "Clerval, my dear friend, how pale and still you are! I have come to retrieve you—I entreat you, answer me!" The voice echoed through the cave. My brain worked painfully slowly. But—no, it was not possible. It was a dream, a wonderful fever dream. 

I felt warm arms around me, and immediately I seized. It was a visceral reaction. I kicked away at the body holding me, scrambling back against the wall. Everything blurred and spun. I coughed, panted, staggered. 

"My dear Clerval," he said urgently, "calm yourself, please. You worry me." 

I looked up at the form next to me. He was smaller than the creature. Blurry. Familiar.

"Clerval," he insisted, in a voice laden with fear, "it is me. Victor Frankenstein. What has happened to you? How ill you are!" His voice broke on the last sentence; that was what broke me out of my stupor. Immediately, relief flooded every inch of my body. I opened my mouth and attempted to speak, but my lungs rebelled against me, and I grasped at the wall as I lapsed into a coughing fit that made every part of my body ache. 

I felt Victor's arms around me and leaned into him, gripping at his thick, scratchy coat. He was warm, comforting, and he held me up as I pressed myself into his chest, as if he could erase everything that had happened if I only got close enough. There are not enough words in any language to describe the utter overwhelming relief that toppled over me. He was as fire to a freezing traveller, air to a drowning man, rain to a drought-ridden desert. He opened the gates I had shored up against the fear and the horror of my captivity, and everything I had endeavoured to suppress came crashing down upon my diseased and weakened frame. I convulsed with the weight of it all. There I stayed in his arms, trying to catch my breath as he rubbed my back, just until everything had run through me and drained out and I felt cleaner than before. It must only have been a few moments. It might as well have been centuries.

"We must go, Henry," he said at length in a choked tone of voice. "I am sorry for it, but the creature is not far behind. Can you stand?"

I groaned, shook my head.

"Can you try?"

He lifted me up by the torso, gently. Twice I failed, my legs buckling under me, and Victor caught me; then, I succeeded, and, with me leaning heavily on his shoulders, he helped me to the mouth of the cave.

Through the cave and down the glacier we two fled, clutching each other tightly; I held Victor simply because he was my lifeline, but Victor seemed more occupied in stopping my clumsy and weakened legs from slipping. Indeed, I faltered twice, which whipped Victor into an anxious frenzy. The sun was sinking below the horizon as we reached the bottom of the glacier and began the trudge down the slope. 

As the last embers of the sun disappeared, there was a long, echoing howl. Both of us stiffened and hurried, knowing now that the hunt was on. A dread stole through me as we hurried through the night, tripping over roots and rocks. I began to struggle to breathe again, both from the exertion and from fear. I coughed, I gasped; my breath crackled on the intake. More and more of my weight leaned upon Victor, and he glanced at me in alarm. My exhaustion and agitation increased by the minute, and even as we two rushed down the mountain, I felt myself more and more incapable of supporting my own weight. I wheezed and coughed, resisting the trembling weakness that pervaded my stumbling limbs; then, all at once, I became incapable of supporting my own weight and tumbled to the ground. I landed hard upon a rock; my arm stung. My limbs tingled and my chest heaved for air that would not come. I sputtered and wheezed, feeling the air crackle inside of my lungs; it was not enough, it was not reaching me. I gasped for air. My head spun and my fingers fumbled for nothing. Victor cried out in dismay, rushing to me and dragging me to a softer spot of ground. "Clerval," he whispered urgently, "Henry, can you hear me? Can you breathe? You must get up! We must continue!"

I tried to oblige him, but could not move, and besides that, could not breathe anymore. A helpless panic set in. I hacked and coughed, gasping for air between each fatal flare of pain. After a moment, I felt Victor's hand under my head, supporting me, and a flask of water at my lips. I pushed it away for a moment, then, as I perceived the fit fading, I snatched it and drank. Once it almost fell from my trembling fingers, and Victor supported it until I was finished. I passed it back to him and lay back across his lap—when had I ended up on his lap?—with my arms splayed out, still heaving for air, dizzy with the need of it. Now it came, albeit with difficulty, and the panic faded. Again, I felt immense relief. I swallowed, attempted to speak, and my voice obeyed, though hoarse and weak. "Victor," I said, "oh, God—"

"My dearest Henry," he whispered back, "I am sorry—please, we must flee. The monster follows us."

"I cannot," I said, defeated. This exhausted my voice's capacity; I began to cough again, a great rending fit that sent convulsions of agony through me again. Victor supported my back, and when I was finished, lay me back down again. Then, for just a moment, he stiffened. I opened my eyes; he was staring down at my mouth. With the greatest of tenderness and a horrified hesitation, he took his sleeve and wiped at my lips. The corner of it came away wet and stained red-brown. Victor stared at his sleeve, then back at me; at that moment, our eyes locked and we both understood. My heart sank.

"Steady now, Henry. It will all be alright," he said, quavering. He passed me the flask. I drank greedily until it was empty, then passed it back to him and lay down upon his lap again, exhausted. "Are you cold?" he asked in an unnaturally tight voice. 

"Only slightly," I answered, forcing my tone to be casual. I was freezing. 

"I cannot make a fire," he said.

"That's fine."

He wrapped his coat around me; I pulled it tighter. He pulled me to him and cradled me. The upright position helped somewhat with my breathing. 

I stared up at the stars for a while. They were beautiful, and made me feel small, though they didn't give me the same relief anymore. Gradually, I began to feel warm, and I felt my mind grow dim. I considered telling Victor, but decided it would be better if he did not know. As I drifted off, I thought I heard the sound of weeping.

I woke up to a shrill and rage-filled scream. I bolted awake, coughing up blood and spit, and looked around. The world was a mess of darkness, motion and noise. Someone was shouting. 

"Away!" Victor cried, quite incoherent and hysterical. "You will not take him—I won't let you! Fiend! Monster! Villain!"

I shook my aching head. What was happening? 

A rumbling voice rang out. I felt as if my heart had been struck by lightning, cleft in two. "You misunderstand me completely, Frankenstein."

"Cease your trickery! I know your soul, and it is black with hate."

My blood running cold, I endeavoured to stay still. A tickle stirred in the back of my throat. I clutched my chest.

"I do not wish to harm him—” 

I doubled over. The need to be silent clashed violently with the need to cough.

"Harm him? No, you murdered him! You fancy yourself a fallen angel, a protagonist, a rebel. You fancy yourself a tragedy. You are ten times worse than Satan! Forget the tragedy of the creature, what of the tragedy of Frankenstein? What of the tragedy of Henry Clerval!" Upon my name, Victor's voice broke. His next words were mangled by sobs. "Your victims are innocents!"

Fever lessened my will. I gasped silently.

"And so was I, once!" The creature heaved a deep sigh. "But that makes no difference. You—"

I gave in and coughed. The two fell silent. My body went numb.

"Henry!" Victor cried in a thick, fearful voice. "Listen to me, you must—"

"Enough of this," said the creature.

The world became a blur again. I only got halfway through a scream when it was cut off by a convulsion of my treacherous lungs, and I choked and gasped for air; someone was carrying me, someone large, with big hands, and I recalled those hands wrapped around my neck, a deep rumbling voice, betrayal, a feeling of helplessness; I struggled, furious, terrified, tearful. Victor called my name, distant among the rushing scenery. I choked; I hyperventilated; I regarded myself writhing in the creature's arms from several feet above; then I was gone.

I drifted, then, in darkness. I was aware of several sensations as they passed before me; being carried, someone speaking softly yet urgently, the sensation of drowning. I felt someone taking my pulse, a strange warmth. My life was a blur, and I recalled nothing.

* * *

I stayed by Henry's side the entire night, fearing both the creature's return and his illness. I could not believe the events that had just occurred, though they repeated in my head to the point of madness. I could only clasp Henry's hand, relieve his fever as best I could, fend off the prying gaze of the old woman who had taken us in, and wait.

At length, a little while past three o'clock, our carriage arrived along with the young man who had gone to fetch it. With the help of the driver, I carried Henry in and lay him across the seat. The journey home was tedious, yet gruelling to my fearful mind; several times I nearly broke down there in the seat with Henry upon my lap, his weak rasping breaths my only tie to sanity. However, we reached the gates of my father's estate soon enough, and I fetched a servant to help me carry Henry up to bed.

This racket awoke my father and Elizabeth; they were shocked when they saw me, but I could not allow myself to greet them properly yet. The danger had not yet passed. Henry still breathed only weakly, and the monster could be lurking outside. I rushed Henry into my own chambers, which contained some medical apparatus, though not as much as I would have liked; I put him to bed and did what I could. What I would not have done for my laboratory in Scotland! But there was no point in wishing for supplies I did not have.

At length, when I had finished treating him, I left the chambers, assigning a maid to watch over him and call upon me if anything went wrong. It was nearly sunrise, and the sky was a light violet shade through the windows as I stumbled to Elizabeth's room and collapsed, fully clothed and filthy, upon her bed. I was asleep in a moment. Out of pity, she did not object, and went to sleep in the guest room.

* * *

The next few months were dangerous ones for me, and unpleasant for the rest of the family. I recall very little. I was in the throes of pneumonia and brain fever, and required constant supervision, which Victor ministered with the utmost devotion. My family visited; it pained my father and Franz to see me so ill. However, the presence of friends and family around me greatly aided my recovery, and so by degrees I passed out of danger and began a long, slow convalescence.

Now that I had left the realm of the creature, my prospects seemed brighter. I no longer harboured the same morbid notions about my own death; life seemed brighter and nature again gained her restorative aspect. Still, I found myself sometimes overwhelmed by my own mind, my own thoughts, especially lacking the ability to take a restorative walk due to my weakness. On such occasions I called for Victor, and he came running at the slightest hint of my discomfort. I spent many long hours with Victor sitting by my side, vigilant; though he did not rid my mind of those reoccurring intrusive memories through his presence, it helped greatly to admit them to him. A few months ago it would have pained me to say such things to him, to see his face twist in empathetic pain and to wreck his view of me as a being of unwavering strength and support, but I was too beaten for guilt, and only sought refuge from myself. And refuge was to be found. The memories still returned, again and again beating down upon me like heavy rain, but with company the writhing, manic urge was turned and dulled, so that my chest ached but the gentle presence beside me softened its touch. I talked with Victor frequently about the things that had obsessed me so in the caves. Together we dug up from inside me all the raw and bleeding ideas that had sunk their hooks into me, and took them apart, examining them together. Frequently and for many a long hour we discussed the definition of a human being, the value of forgiveness and when it should be or should not be given, the existence of God or an afterlife and so on. I brought out assertion after assertion and laid them out in a row for Victor to wander through, examine, and pick apart. He seemed to understand that I was, in fact, in agreement with him in most areas; he saw through the pain in my conveyance that these ideas belonged not to me, but to something darker, the devil's advocate, and did not treat it as a debate, but rather a sort of comfort, an intellectual medical treatment. These conversations exhausted me, but to air out all of the addled shouting of my fevered brain, to explode or verify the proposals laid forth when I had been too ill and alone to puzzle them out, seemed to me as much a part of the eradication of illness as clean sheets and fresh air. Even when my conclusions were disturbing to me, my mind no longer wielded them like a weapon, which freed me to explore them honestly. However, we never spoke of my death and revival—not truly. Like frightened animals to tainted water we tasted and shied away from the subject, and it hung between us, making the air heavy and dark. I wondered if I should ever again have the opportunity to speak to Victor without something hanging unsaid.

As for Victor himself, he also convalesced during that time, though he regained his strength much faster than I did. Much as he doted on me, Elizabeth doted on him, ensuring that he received food, sleep, exercise, and comfort in all necessary measure, for she knew that he was in the habit of denying these to himself. He now read books on psychology to divert himself, and appeared to have forsaken physical sciences for the moment, which pleased us greatly, for every time Victor was consumed by a physical science something awful tended to happen. The presence of his family and friends greatly reduced his naturally present melancholy, though they did not eradicate it wholly. Thus I was relieved of the burden of worry.

My family also visited me frequently. Franz, in particular, was rendered anxious to the extreme at my illness; the first time he had come in to see me, he had burst into tears then and there, which had distressed me. Isaac and Joseph were not allowed to see me until my illness had mostly passed and was certainly incommunicable, but at that time they frequently rushed in to jump on my bed or crawl in beside me. Joseph babbled on and on, telling me stories about fictional heroes of his own creation or the events of the day, both of which tended towards being entirely nonsensical. Isaac, upon realizing I could not play fight with him, sulked for a while before joining Joseph in telling me stories. As for my father, he cared for me and brought me presents, as a caring father is wont to do; at this point, also, he practically worshipped Victor, the twice-over saviour of his eldest son, and where he had previously roundly criticized his academic approach to life and his captivating effect on me, now praised him highly at every opportunity and was vocal in his approval of our intercourse.

Overall my days passed well, and I improved slowly, even through a hundred minor relapses. However, one thing dogged me: the prospect of the creature returning. When I brought this up to Victor, his face darkened; not in foreboding, but in thought. "My dearest Henry," he said, "there is no need to concern yourself with that. The creature is the one that saved you, in fact." He proceeded to tell me that when I had been seized by the creature, he had not attempted to bring me back into the cave; in fact, he had gone directly to a small town which was the closest settlement to our location, and had proceeded to depose me on the porch of a house and knock on the door before returning for Victor. After a brief struggle, he brought him to the same place and promptly disappeared into the night.

This recount, though carefully censored of any detailed description, still disturbed me greatly. It made sense to me, more than to Victor at least, given the creature's reactions to my distress; however, it seemed strange to me that, upon spending all that effort catching up with his fugitives, he would repent, even aid us. Why not simply leave it? This compelled me to relate several events in the cave, that Victor might understand the situation more fully. He protested, citing that to revisit those events might take its toll on my health, but I insisted. So, taking my hands in his, he listened as I recounted the details of my bouts of madness and the creature's attempts in vain and to my detriment to calm me. As I spoke of the wild, mad panic that had risen within me, the same panic rose again. My breath became short, my limbs tingling, my heart quickening. Before I could press on and let the sensations develop into a full fit, Victor calmed me and bade me skip that part altogether. In this manner we struggled through my description of the cycle that took place. At the end of it I felt quite shaken and hollow, and my hands trembled. Victor, though deep in thought, noticed and endeavoured to calm me through vague inquiries about the state of my family or the history of Oriental poetry. I rambled about Kandali's translations, Franz's latest courtship and such things while Victor only half-listened, and though the repetition of what I had studied and heard before calmed me, I remained anxious to hear what he was thinking. At length I ended my digressions and inquired his thoughts on the matter.

"This is strange," Victor said, "strange indeed." His brow was still furrowed in thought. "I don't know what to make of it, Clerval. However, I do not think that the creature will be returning."

"I agree," I said, relaxing back into my pillows, "however, I don't think we should leave the matter here, either."

"Well, what would you propose to do? The creature is gone, we do not know where. Perhaps he will return for revenge, or perhaps he is gone for ever. Nevertheless, don't busy your mind with such things, dear Clerval. We must focus on the amelioration of your condition."

"And yours," I added.

"And mine," he conceded.

With this conclusion made, we lapsed back into mutual silence. Victor picked up his book again. I felt uncomfortable, restless. During our conversation, a question had arisen in the back of my mind that quickly pervaded every thought. It prodded me forward, made me sweat with anxiety at the thought of asking it. Victor, seeing my agitation, lowered his book and enquired, "But, Clerval, what distresses you so? Don't strain yourself—tell me immediately, that I may dispel any irrational thought."

I stared at him. This, I felt, was a critical moment. He looked concerned at me, hair curling wild across his face, one hand poised to reach for anything I might desire, do anything I might require. I felt safer, then, but my anxiety soon overwhelmed this feeling. 

"I beg of you," he said, "tell me—what can I do? Please, answer. You are worrying me."

"Why," I began, my heart pounding, "why did you bring me back? Be honest." 

His brow furrowed in confusion. "From the monster? Why, I could not simply—" 

"From the dead."

He paled and set his book down on the nightstand delicately. "I am not sure dwelling on that would be healthy, Clerval." 

"Just tell me, Victor." I felt my hands begin to shake. "I want to know. I must know. And tell me why you did not tell me before—why you let me remain ignorant as you sickened and wasted away with the burden of it." I spat out the words, resisting tears. "Do you know how much you worried me? How many times I wept and despaired over you, over the state of your health? I thought you were going to waste away and perish. I thought it was my fault, that my best friend would die in agony because of me. I contemplated death, Victor, at the thought of living with that guilt on my shoulders!"

I did not know where the confession had come from. I did not know certainly if it was entirely true, but felt that it was; in any case, at this, Victor immediately flinched back as if I had struck him. "Henry!" he cried. 

I knew then that I had gone altogether too far with too much anger in my voice. I was consumed by the deepest of shame, and continued more calmly. "All this to say—I only ask you to tell me why. You owe me that courtesy." With this assertion complete, I sat back, feeling tears running hot from my eyes, heart pounding ferociously.

Victor took a deep breath, almost a gasp, and stared at me with wide eyes and wild hair. He took another breath, and another; then he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, sobbed quietly, and spoke. "You wish to know why, Henry? It is an ugly thing, though noble in its way. It may make you ill, though I have worked so hard to keep these things from hurting you. You truly wish to know?"

"I do," I responded.

He laughed, and the laugh contained something startling. I flinched. "It was a dark temptation, Henry, a dark temptation, that is all. The creature came in through my door, and I, sitting there in a locked room, I was afraid; I thought he would kill me. He entered and without a word dropped your corpse on the floor, graceless, and promised that he would haunt me until the night of my wedding.

"It was impossible to resist, Clerval. Your body lay before me, the instruments and extra organs scattered across the other room from the previous attempt at a second creature that was so forced upon me, all ready for work; I knew everything I required, and you had not been dead twenty-four hours. You had not been dead long enough to bloat. You had not been dead even that long! I do not think you understand me. That—that is nothing. That is almost alive, so close to life it is. Your body remained nearly untouched by decomposition. Everything was perfect, everything in place for revival, and the only keystone holding me back was my will, my horror, my sanity. Call it what you like, it was the vow I had taken to never endeavour to do such a thing again. In the face of the monster's towering horror I had resisted, in the face of misery, the threat of ignominy, everything preceding I had resisted; but I looked upon your face, Henry, I looked upon the countenance that once so glowed with life and I thought one thought. I thought of India. 

"I began my work then. It was not a choice, Henry. I can only hope that you understand. While I toiled, while I took the decomposing organs out of you, even dogged by disgust, grief, other unspeakably repulsed feelings, while I repaired you and preserved your flesh, there was never, not once, a choice to be made. That is what you must understand. I awoke you six days later, that part was not a lie; the moment I saw your eyes, I knew I could not tell you. You glowed! Even marked by the emaciation and scarring of death, you were illuminated from within, and I felt that if I told you, your soul would be crushed; your innocence was my only refuge from my own guilt. I swear, Henry, if I had known it had caused you such strife, I would have told you immediately. I know that I was wrong to keep this from you—I know that it was wrong to keep the creature from you, to let you believe it was only overwork that drove me to such a wretched condition at Ingolstadt and made you slave over me so! But my only comfort in those days was to live with you in a mode of life untouched by my unspeakable sin. We have many more things to speak about, and I do not expect you to forgive me immediately, but—Henry, you look awful! Please, calm yourself! Do not look so panicked; I am sorry."

I stared at Victor for a moment, eyes wide, then looked down at my hands. The room spun around me. "Victor," I murmured as my stomach lurched and my mind burned, "I feel quite ill." 

* * *

The few days after the confession were gruelling for us both. Bringing up the subject had cleared the air, but with a dear cost. The horror of the story, so different from the carefully expunged information I had previously related to him, sent Clerval's health into a downwards spiral again. His fits, once few and far between, started up again and became frequent, often occurring multiple times in a day; again he found himself unable to breathe, caught in the throes of wild, mad panic. I attempted to the furthest extent of my ability to help him; I changed his environment, bade his visitors not say anything distressing, sat by him and talked in dulcet tones of calming things. These things provided comfort, but minimally so. In a fervour I read every ancient book of melancholia and the mind I could obtain; I absorbed the works of Cicero, Burton, Granger; I pored over every case, every word of every tome. I found their theories exceedingly interesting, but found nothing particularly useful. Surely Clerval did not suffer from melancholia, for he was cheerful, as a rule; surely, he was not mad! I refused the very thought of sending him to an asylum. No—I would care for him to the bitter end; if need be, until my own death—but I would not subject him to an asylum. If he was to be an invalid, at least he would be so in the utmost comfort, under the unceasing care of those who loved him dearly. As for help, there was no labour to be performed, only hoped and prayers, though I received many offers to help, notably from his brother who was always underfoot and infected with a sort of anxious desperation. 

Gradually, despite these difficulties, he again recovered with difficulty from this relapse, which cheered everyone greatly. His fits dwindled; his strength grew. This time, the rate of his recovery was steeper; it was as if the thought of his death had been dragging on him, ailing him all this time. However, Henry being Henry, despite the extreme distress it caused him at first, now that he knew all the details he began slowly and with great care to put it all behind him. He was determined to push on until all sorrow melted away and he found himself as he was before; contented, curious and cheerful, although perhaps wiser, less naïve. Many an hour we spent together, painstakingly working out my many lies and omissions, resolving nagging concerns and exploring my (often inadequate) reasons for choosing not to let him or my family know of my work. It was gruelling yet entirely rewarding to see disillusionment fade from both our countenances and be replaced by mutual understanding.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth and I were rejoicing in our union. We had not ever truly had a chance to celebrate, for the awful confrontation had occurred on our wedding night, and after that my focus had been upon other things. Now, however, that Henry had fully begun to regain his strength, we were free to spend time together, and took advantage of this freedom to the greatest degree. How can I describe the bliss of spending my hours with Elizabeth? We sat outside together, reading to each other; while she found my books of science and philosophy interesting, if dry, I found her poetry enchanting and enthralling. The florid words called up to me fresh emotion, calling parts of me long buried beneath the wreckage of my shattered health to awaken and bloom like small white flowers among the ashes. We ate together; we finally moved into the same room after so many months improperly separated. Her countenance alone soothed me greatly. I lavished my affection upon her, and found that the more energy I spent on her, the more energy I seemed to have left. What a blessing to have such lovely relations! When I gave her a gift, her eyes seemed to illuminate, sparkling in the sun-dappled afternoon shade; she never seemed to me more beautiful.

As all of this joy surrounded me, I began to feel something odd. Inside of me, I had long felt, was something deeply broken; something that pushed me on, a devil that weighed upon my shoulder. It pushed me—not to achievement, for achievement was my own design, but to isolation, to obsession. I felt myself under its sway every time I began again to think too deeply into things, carving out complicated and miserable tunnels of thought through a simple and happy idea until it was hollow, useless, and full of holes; I thought of it every time I was certain I must press on, that my ideas were more important than the welfare of my family; and furthermore that I could not help it, that I had no choice but to forsake the things that made me joyful. Elizabeth saw this as well. Once she had remarked to me that I seemed entirely different under the sway of such obsession, as if I was not her Victor at all. Certainly, I felt terrible when I fell into this state. However, the calamity of Clerval's illness had, at least, taught me one thing out of sheer necessity: to notice when that force took me and to shake it off in favour of what was in the moment. That proved to be an invaluable skill, for now that I knew what was broken, I could fight it; and fight it I did, with a burning, curious strength. I hated it with a passion; had it been a physical ailment I would have excised it with a scalpel myself as quickly as possible. However, it was not; the demons lived on subtly and persistently in my mind, small broken processes of daily function that seemed to work so well for others. There was, indubitably, something wrong with me. For all my knowledge I did not know how to fix it; but by God, I would battle it for eternity if I had to. This was my resolve.

Upon declaring this to myself, I immediately got up and told Elizabeth, feeling that without support I would slip back. She seemed sorrowful, but acquiesced in helping me. Following this, I told Clerval. He, in turn, informed me that he had always known.

* * *

Following the conclusions that took place, my convalescence was speedy. Progressing in leaps and bounds, I soon was able to go for short walks, and the fresh air invigorated me greatly and exponentially increased my rate of healing, as did the sight of the surrounding scenery, the high peaks and plunging valleys. 

Victor's conclusion pleased me greatly as well, though I was not happy that he considered himself broken. For the first time since he was seventeen, I felt that he was trying, truly trying; that he took genuine interest in the things around him, and regained a childhood passion that he seemed previously to have lost forever at Ingolstadt. Though he sometimes still fell into melancholy fits, he now sought out me or Elizabeth rather than silence and solitude to accompany him and take the edge off of his fevered misery. This, more even than the mountain air, invigorated me.

Though the events that had occurred were strange and terrible, they had solved more problems then they caused, in my view: Victor no longer worried about the creature, I knew the truth of my revival and the events of my death and rebirth, and, indirectly, my illness had forced Victor to face his own demons. Indeed, I will not pretend that I was not scarred deeply; the lines wrapping and marking my body forever remained and the memory of being choked by the creature repeated itself still sharply in my mind. Doubtless it would never truly leave me. Perhaps it had been burned into my mind; it was, after all, the moment of my death. However, the world seemed even brighter once I had survived the bulk of my trials. I had emerged on the other side, wiser and stronger.

However, I had one last thing that I wondered about. When I brought it up to Victor, he shrank away in guilt, but remained willing to humour the idea. For closure, I decided, I would follow my urge. Now that the fear was mostly gone, I felt a new curiosity and a curious sympathy. I did other things in the meantime, for I could not muster up the heart to work on it as more than a side project, but it comforted me to know that one day, it would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: epilogue! Not so sure about this chapter but it’s okay enough to publish. 
> 
> Ah, the poor creature. He really just wants the best for his “bride.” But at the same time, kidnapping isn’t exactly the peak of healthy communication and trust. He’ll have to do better than that. 
> 
> I always saw Victor as mentally ill or at least emotionally unstable. He really is just awful at managing himself. Maybe this is a bit of a clunky “solution” but we all know it’s an uphill battle, he’ll struggle + relapse but I did want to set him firmly on a path to recovery and self awareness, cause what kind of classic lit fic writer even am I if I don’t spitefully give everyone happy endings? Screw you, literary masterpieces about the tragedy of the human condition. I have the power of denial and naïveté on my side! 
> 
> Also fun fact, I almost did a section from Franz’s POV, but then I changed the direction of the plot and decided it was a no-go. Especially since doing OC POV may be overstepping my boundaries a little bit here haha 
> 
> Anyways I’ve rambled enough. As always, my kingdom for a comment and thanks for reading! Epilogue coming soon :)


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! This is the last bit. It was really fun to write the ending, lots of cool monologues. Enjoy and thanks for sticking around!!

The freezing wind had nearly killed Victor by the time we spotted the lights of the ship on the horizon. I, only slightly more resistant to exposure, was not in much better shape, and was afraid for Victor. However, despite our weakness, we managed to destroy the sled and make improvised paddles. I pulled us towards the vessel, my arm wrapped around Victor to share my body heat. The men saw us and picked us up; by that time both of us had stopped shivering and were nearing unconsciousness.

The ship was warm, hospitable; however, it was not nearly as warm and hospitable as the personality of the young Captain Robert Walton. He was extremely emotional, and his face morphed in exaggerated expressions to every statement offered. He motioned widely as he talked, though around us he tried to become more subdued so as not to disturb Victor, who had grown ill. As usual, as his health failed so did his will, and he began to sink back into melancholy. I endeavoured to keep his hopes up. "Our mission is not finished," I insisted. "Atonement is close. You will be free."

"I am so tired, Henry." He gave a tearful sigh. “I do not feel free.”

"Not yet." I pulled him close and rubbed his back, for he had begun to shiver; he rested his head on my chest and wept softly, and I stroked his hair. Both of us had reached a breaking point, and I loathed to think of what may have happened if we had not been picked up. We were both exhausted, hungry, ill, and laden with anxiety and trepidation. It was no wonder that Victor's usually impeccable and disciplined self-regulation had begun to degrade. I felt as if I was back in Scotland, battling back my own demons as well as his; we were both trying our best, I knew, but the fact remained that I greatly looked forward to the end of our mission, when we could head back home. Luckily, Walton fed and cared for us well, and treated us gently, which quickly eased the worst of our sufferings.

Walton spent a large portion of his time writing letters to his sister; he showed great interest, also, in our history. He wished to know how we came upon his ship, who we were chasing and why; he wanted to know everything, and Victor, who had taken a liking to him, acquiesced. So the routine became this: Victor would get plenty of sleep, so as to maintain his health. I, having already recovered, would rise early and spend my days surveying the ice for the creature. Meanwhile, Victor would tell our story to the young captain, who transcribed it all. This operation was shaky at best. Frequently, I was called down from the deck to find Victor reduced to a trembling, sobbing wreck in his recount of a more harrowing section of his journey, and I kept him company as he recovered his strength enough to continue. Other times, I awakened at night to find him in the throes of a nightmare, and interrupted him. The vision was the same every night: in his dream, Elizabeth, his father, and I were dead, and he was utterly empty and alone. I did my best to reassure him. Elizabeth was healthy and safe, I reminded him, staying at home with baby Caroline; his father was with her; and I was here, beside him; these facts calmed him without fail. Both I and Walton seemed to have the ability to comfort him, and thus, though I did not like to neglect him, I left half of his care to Walton while I continued to survey the ice for any sign of the creation.

Under our doubly watchful care, Victor's condition ameliorated. Walton marvelled at my own quick recovery, and soon began enquiring as to why I seemed so supernaturally hardy and strong. Soon he stopped altogether, however, and I knew that Victor had gotten past that section of his story.

We spent long hours in conversation with Walton. He was passionate about many subjects, if somewhat uninformed. On some occasions he pulled me aside and asked me to corroborate Victor's story or contribute my own perspective, which I did with minor difficulty. Over time I had slowly learned to let the horror pass over me, and leave me quietly unharmed; thus I was able to tell my story to Walton without sending myself spiraling into a fit of panic. Still, it was far from my favourite activity.

The days passed slowly and with nary a sign of the creature anywhere. At length, Victor completed his tale, and despite a few passing bouts of weakness, he soon became able to mount on deck with me and survey the ice. Walton was extremely anxious to help us in any way possible; however, he was somewhat preoccupied, as his ship had become stuck in the ice and the crew required pacification. Victor was perfectly willing to help them continue onwards; with his persuasive skill, they continued when the ice broke with no hesitation from any crew member.

A few more weeks passed before we became aware of a strange process: the food stores were dwindling with a strange speed. It was not alarming, as Walton had packed extra, and there remained more than thrice what would be required to sustain the crew as well as us two unexpected passengers; however, it became clear that there was a thief, who came at intervals of a week or so. Walton and Victor investigated the crew and concluded that none of them could be the robber. Victor and I appeared to have the same thought in the same moment, then: the creature must have run out of food. I felt, with a triumphant pang, that our quest was over at last. This theory was soon confirmed by the the discovery of a supernaturally large footprint near the stores. How lucky we felt, and yet, how full of trepidation! It was facile to convince Walton to let us handle the matter alone, for at this point he almost worshipped Victor, and believed him capable of no wrong; we made our preparations, then, with a strange combination of disquiet and anticipation.

I, myself, felt nearly sick with dread excitement. I could not sit still as we made our preparations. Five years' work had nearly come to fruition; our searching was done. A story that had begun with my own death was drawing to a close, I felt, and yet I knew not how it would end; any outcome I dreamed up seemed impossible, either too optimistic or too despairing. I felt as if I was the edge of a precipice, pushed inch by inch along the edge; on one side, perdition and the destruction of the hard-won fruits of my labour; on the other, even more blurred and wrapped in fog, another option, of which I dared not dream. It agitated me. So the days passed until the next Sunday, for this was the next night that the thief was likely to appear.

That night, Walton and the crew bade us good luck. Walton begged us to shout for him if we required anything at all; he even offered us guns, which we refused, though Victor seemed unsure. Then, all at once, the chaos and fuss passed; our helpers withdrew to bed, wishing us well, and Victor and I withdrew to lie awake in the hold, waiting. Our breath fogged; Victor trembled with cold. I felt my hair stand on end, and shivered with anticipation. Victor glanced at me. "Do not be afraid, Henry."

"I am not afraid," I answered truthfully. "Are you?"

"No. Yes." Victor shook his head, frowning. "Perhaps. I feel odd."

"Steady now," I told him. We lapsed back into a tense, dark silence. The night seemed to encroach upon me, bringing with it memories nearly too strong to bear. Shaking, I inhaled slowly and let it pass. Victor placed a hand on my shoulder. I slowly began to wish that we had taken up the offered guns. However, I soon dismissed these silly thoughts and refocused myself. The watch, though harrowing, was not so bad with a companion.

A few minutes past one o'clock, we heard heavy footsteps plodding down towards the stores. My heart hammered in my chest; my breath caught in my throat. I took another, deeper breath. The footsteps halted. The door opened. Breath bated, we peered into the darkness.

"Frankenstein," said a deep, rumbling voice. I stiffened, breathed, relaxed. Inside of me there was a battle raging between panic and calm. I stilled my hands, controlled myself.

"Creation," Victor answered in a voice that quavered.

"Have you come to finish what you've begun? To kill me, end your own creation? For shame, Victor Frankenstein. And Henry Clerval... you have have overcome your fear to witness my end, I see." In his watery yellow eyes I saw infinite sorrow and weariness. My heart slowed. "I will not trouble your noble hearts with lamentation." He spat out the words with a sort of dark irony. "I thought once that I might seek redemption; now I know that it is not thus. You hunt me to the ends of the earth, powered by your vast hatred; I see now that I have been hated from my inception, and that no redemption is available to me. And yet, this is not my own fault. '_Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay/To mould me man? Did I solicit thee/From darkness to promote me?_' Ah, miserable wretch as I, you may as well end me now; I am already dead! And yet, my creator, you may not survive this final fight if you so choose to engage me. Traitor! Villain! If I am not mistaken, you have begotten a child by the bride I chose to leave alive despite your atrocious crime against my own love. Are you ashamed, Frankenstein? You dote upon your daughter, but do not forget—I am your eldest! However, it matters not; let us do battle, and the sun shall rise upon one corpse. Between filicide and patricide, we shall see then, who shall become twice a criminal, and whose hand prevails."

"Stop!" I cried. The guttural word seemed to tear itself involuntarily from my throat. "We have not come to fight you. I am the one who sought you out."

The creature turned to me, hesitating incredulity in his eyes. "Your trembling manner betrays your fear, man. You lie."

"You are wrong." I took a short, practiced breath. "I am not afraid," I said, as if saying it would make it true, "I sought you out because you took me down the mountain. I am certain your mutterings were reflections on whether to take me back down, though I heard them not; surely, if you meant to harm me directly you would have done so while I was your prisoner. You attempted to calm me, to feed, clothe and warm me; every bit of suffering you brought upon my head, though there was a nigh-unbearable volume of it, was unintentional. Wherefore would you have taken me down the mountain rather than simply stay back, if you did not intend to take me back into your clutches? It was, I am certain, because you cared for my wellbeing. Certainly, you have done awful things—certainly you have made others wretched! And certainly I will not allow you to harm me again, even by accident. I do not think that my capture or treatment was justified in the least. You must not think that I bear no ill will towards you. However, I do not forsake you, even as I do not forgive you. I sought you out to offer a chance. It would simply be wrong to let things lie. We are not beasts, after all—at least, I am not, though many have treated you in a beastly fashion, if the story you told Victor is the truth. There is much that has occurred that was cruel and wrong. However, I firmly believe that if we feed this hungry vengeance, it will only worsen, and thus I have chased you to the end of the world to bring you compassion, whether or not you deserve it—for I do not care at all to decide. Perhaps, one day, I will forgive you; perhaps I will never lose my grudge; it matters not. Thus I deliver you my offer." I extended my hand towards him. "Will you come with me?"

With this speech complete, I fell silent, breath bated. The creature stared down at me with an unreadable expression. I heard his breathing, slight and hesitating, and it seemed to me deafening in the silence. My arm trembled with the effort of keeping it aloft; I looked up; I prayed fervently.

Then, by degrees, an imperceptible change came over the creature, and though there was no visible difference, all of a sudden I was no longer afraid. A calm sureness washed over me. I extended my arm further, fingers stretching towards him, exhaling slowly. For a long moment there was no sound but our breath, the lapping of waves against the hull, and, distantly, the ice creaking.

Hesitating then, the creature reached out his hand, and took mine. I met his eyes. Silently, we smiled, and needed no more words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you KNOW I have to give everyone a happy ending. It’s a fact! But it was also tricky to balance the well-deserved compassion and understanding with the reminders that what the creature did was still not okay. Hope that came across. 
> 
> The Creature also quotes from Paradise Lost because of course he does, he’s a massive fanboy. He’s probably gonna end up being the Dante to Milton’s Virgil if that makes sense. 
> 
> I like to think that after this, Victor names him and a slice of life ensues. Unfortunately I can’t write slice of life at all, otherwise I’d totally do that. 
> 
> Obviously Walton is still in love with Victor. I like to think he’s got a crush on Henry too but Henry’s more preoccupied with the creature. Gotta love those canon Totally Straight(TM) descriptions of how soft and smart and beautiful and amazing Victor-senpai is uwu. 
> 
> Did you notice that Victor named his and Elizabeth’s kid Caroline after his mom? And if you didn’t catch the three references I nestled in there: both lines with the briar and red rose comparison are references to the Ballad of Lord Lovel, and the “body bone and mind” line is stolen from Birth to my Creation from Frankenstein: a new musical, to give credit where credit is due. 
> 
> Anyways!! Thank you so much for reading! Please comment and have a lovely rest of your day :)


End file.
